


shock and awe

by e_va



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Electrocution, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Ben Hargreeves at the end, Torture, Whumptober 2020 Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26902621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/e_va/pseuds/e_va
Summary: Whumptober 2020 Fill For prompt no. 6: Please...“Get it Out” | No More | “Stop, please.”Five doubled over and threw up a mouthful of blood and bile.“Shit,” Diego said, scrambling forward to steady Five as he sank to his knees.“Shit,” Five echoed, and passed out.
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy & Diego Hargreeves
Comments: 29
Kudos: 370





	shock and awe

**Author's Note:**

> I am not tagging this properly for Whumptober because I am less "participating in Whumptober" than I am "looking at the prompts that tickle my fancy and then filling them erratically."
> 
> Originally posted like a month ago on my [tumblr](https://e-vasong.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Feel free to come bother me about the Umbrella Academy.

“Hm,” Agent Finch laid the bloody pliers back on the metal tray with a clatter. “You’re as resilient as I remember, _Number Five_.” He sneered the words, hands tightening into fists at his sides.

Five supposed that Finch meant for that to be a threat, but he just couldn’t bring himself to take it seriously. 

“Go ahead and hit me, Finch,” he gave the man an affable smile. “If you really throw your back into it, it might even hurt.”

The provocation worked. Finch did hit him, then. Right across the face. The force of the blow snapped Five’s head off to the side, slamming his skull into the metal back of the chair. The steel reverberated, and the noise echoed painfully in Five’s ears. It did hurt, in a distant sort of way, but Five had found that being punched was always more jarring than it was painful. Not to mention the fact that it was just bad technique. After all, if you _really_ rung someone’s bell…

Well, in an interrogation, where the goal was to disorient your target and trick them into giving you vital information, a concussion could be useful. But it was a poor tool for torture because it made it easier to zone out, to forget about the pain. And if Finch were any good at his job, he’d know that.

Five sighed. “Ouch,” he said, voice droll. He worked his jaw experimentally. Everything seemed like it was still in its proper place, though the movement tugged painfully on the bruise that had already started to blossom across his left cheek. 

“You can’t run, Five,” Finch said. There was a new speck of blood on his chin, bright against his salt-and-pepper stubble. “I know you. I’d say we have a good half hour before you can jump again; probably longer, with you in pain like this–” Five couldn’t repress the laugh that bubbled up in his chest at that. “Which is plenty of time for me to make you regret ever crossing–oh for fuck’s sake! What are you laughing about?”

“Oh,” Five rolled his eyes. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it. You’re doing great.”

“What?” Finch’s hand returned to the metal tray, grabbing the pliers again. “Not enough pain for you? Fine. Another fingernail, then.”

 _Boring_ , Five thought. A sadistic appetite with no real vision or talent to follow it through, that was Finch’s problem. He watched with disinterest as Finch pressed the pliers against his left ring finger, readying himself to breathe through the inevitable pulse of pain that was coming his way.

“No!” The shout came with a clatter of chains and cuffs as Diego jerked against his bonds. Five jumped, and Finch did too, pliers slipping from his hand and hitting the ground with a clang. Huh. They’d both forgotten, somehow, that Diego was here too.

“You sick son of a bitch,” Diego bit out, the dramatic fucker. Five’s annoyance was practically a living creature inside of him. Diego’s hero complex was both entirely predictable and deeply unwelcome, since Five had this very much under control. Not that Diego much seemed to care.

“Shut up!” Five and Finch snapped at the same time, voices overlapping as they spoke. 

There was a brief lapse in conversation, the room falling silent as they both processed what had just happened. Finch whipped around to glare at Five, and Five glared sullenly back. He wasn’t about to be the one to break eye contact, but it was more annoying than he’d admit to accidentally end up on the same wavelength as his oldest and most incompetent acquaintance from the Commission.

“Why?” Diego said, responding only to Finch. “Because you’re some twisted fuck that gets off on torturing children?”

Diego could be dangerously intelligent when he wanted to be, but he was a bad actor under pressure. And this was a stupid, blatantly obvious attempt at provocation, even by Diego’s standards.

So of course Finch turned back towards Diego, a dangerous glint in his eyes. 

“Diego,” Five said, a warning in his voice.

“You know full well that your brother isn’t as young as he looks,” Finch said, talking over Five. His voice was calm, but he was moving closer towards Diego as he spoke, successfully baited.

“Oh, sorry,” Diego said, yanking on his chains again defiantly. They rattled against the ceiling pipe above Diego’s head and Diego winced. The struggling was likely doing no favors for the discomfort of his position. “I guess that makes torturing him alright, then.”

“Your brother,” Finch said, “was supposed to be my backup on a job once. Instead, he shot me in the back and left me for dead.”

Diego, to his credit, looked utterly unfazed by Finch’s unfavorable and one-sided description of their former partnership, even though it was, essentially, accurate. 

“Your back? Really?“ He jerked his chin in Finch’s direction. “Damn, I’d have guessed he hit you in the face. Maybe he should have. Can’t get any worse than this.”

Finch punched him, which seemed to be his default reaction to everything that upset him, the neanderthal. His fist collided with a sickening crack, and Diego went limp. Five stiffened in his chair. For all that he’d critiqued Finch’s technique, the man was still a burly six feet, almost all of it muscle. A poorly-gauged blow–and Five did not trust Finch to gauge _anything_ well–could do more grievous damage than Finch may have intended.

“Diego?” Five called. If Finch killed one of his siblings, Five wouldn’t much care whether it was an accident or not.

There was a heart-stopping moment where Diego didn’t respond. He just hung there, limp and unmoving. Five’s breath caught in his throat.

Then a shudder passed through him, and Diego’s head lifted slightly. “”M fine,” he muttered, though he was clearly too disoriented to raise his head all the way. His eyelashes were fluttering as he fought for consciousness, and a bit of bloody spittle dripped from his mouth to the ground.

“Five’s right,” Diego said. He was slurring his words. That was bad. “That barely even hurt.”

But Finch didn’t respond to the jab this time, not the way that that he did when Five had resorted to the same taunt. Instead, he stopped to look at Five.

“Did you…?” Finch tilted his head to the side, looking thoroughly bewildered. And then his face split into a wide, almost hysterical grin. “My, my,” Finch said, and Five went stiff. 

Finch’s smile was smug, like the cat that caught the canary, which was a disorienting turn of events. Five was used to being the cat, not the songbird, and he rather liked it that way.

“What?” Five said, terse.

“You almost sounded…God, what’s the word?” Finch said. “Oh, I know! _Concerned_.”

“About him?” Five scoffed. “In his wildest dreams.”

But it was too little, too late. Finch’s lips twisted upwards in a vicious grin. 

“I can’t believe it,” he said. “After all this time. You know, we used to gossip about you in the break room. Wonder if Five, the best assassin the Commission had ever seen and the Handler’s favorite little pet, had a weakness we could exploit. We never did figure it out. Who would have realized…” Finch turned back towards Diego and grabbed him by the jaw, tilting Diego’s head upwards as if to get a better look at him. “That it was something so…sentimental.”

Finch laughed. “I mean,” he continued, “we had some really crazy bets going. But this is just-it’s just–oh, don’t scowl at me, I’m trying to give you a compliment. I guess I just didn’t see this coming from you of all people. I didn’t even realize you had emotions. Other than, you know, anger and irritation. Those I knew about.”

Five opened his mouth. Finch hushed him. “Don’t lie to me, Five,” he said. “You should have heard yourself just now. That was the most scared you’ve been all night. You have a soft spot! All this time, I’ve been hitting the wrong target. You should have said something earlier.”

Five grit his teeth furiously. “Leave it, Finch.”

“No,” said Finch simply. He walked back towards Five, and Five knew better than to think that Finch was coming back for him. Instead, Finch gathered up a handful of cables, loose electrical wires sticking out of the rubber on one end, plugged into a large metal device on the other, and winked.

“Enough,” Five said, lowly. “Finch. _Finch_!”

“’S fine,” Diego spat. “I can take it, Five.”

No. Five struggled, but it was fruitless. Finch palmed some sort of button on the device, and the air around them filled with an electric hum. Finch strode idly back towards where Diego was strung up–the device was by Five’s side, presumably because Finch had meant to use it on him, but the cables ran long enough that Finch reached Diego without needing to pull them taut.

“Finch!” Five tugged sharply at the leather straps that kept his arms bound to the chair. No luck. 

“Hm,” Finch was in front of Diego again. “Let’s try it out.” And then he reached out and pressed the exposed wires to a patch of exposed skin on Diego’s collarbone.

Diego tensed. Five could see the muscles in his neck clenching as he grit his teeth. He didn’t scream. He likely couldn’t, paralyzed by agony, but the anguished groan he made in the back of his throat spoke volumes. 

Five twisted fruitlessly in his bonds. He heard something in his right hand crack, the thumb popping out of place. He wouldn’t be surprised, from the feel of it, if a few bones had broken too. But even so, the leather was simply too tight. 

He couldn’t get free.

Finch held it for a moment, then pulled the cable away. Diego sagged, panting heavily. A few more tremors went through him, aftershocks as his body processed the pain.

“That all you got?” Diego slurred.

“No,” Finch said. “It isn’t.” But before he proceeded, he turned his attention back towards Five. “You see? All this over a couple dead civilians?” he asked. “You realize that I’m going to kill your brother, right? Was it really worth it?”

“Stop,” Five’s voice cracked. He pulled at his bonds again, paying particular attention to his now-broken hand. If he could just force it, he could get free. In his old body, he might have been able to do it–sure, it hurt, but pain was nothing in the face of the panic coursing through him. But in this body, he simply wasn’t strong enough. “ _Please_. Finch!”

“Wow.” That did seem to give Finch pause. He clicked his tongue, sizing Five up thoughtfully. “You know, the begging is a nice touch. It’s really making this whole experience a lot more enjoyable for me.”

Then he pressed the wires to Diego’s throat again. Diego twisted in agony, and Five knew that Finch wasn’t going to let up this time.

Diego was going to die. Five yanked against the leather straps again as he jerked forward, overtaken by instinct. It couldn’t end like this. He couldn’t let it.

And then he was free. With a flash of blue light, he stumbled out of a jump right behind Finch. Finch dropped the cable immediately, even before he turned around, likely recognizing the distinctive sound of Five’s warping. The live wire sparked on the ground.

Five didn’t bother with grabbing a weapon. Finch twisted around, and Five punched him in the face with his good hand. Finch staggered, though he caught himself on a nearby pillar of concrete before he could fall. But Five was behind him before he could regain his balance. He got an arm around Finch’s neck, braced his mangled hand against Finch’s jaw, and twisted hard.

Five felt the bone break under his hands, just beneath the brainstem. Even pained and concussed, his technique was perfect. Finch collapsed to the ground, dead before he even hit the floor, and Five had just enough wherewithal left in him to angle the corpse so it fell on top of the live cable’s exposed wires.

“H-holy shit, Five,” Diego said. Five’s heart twisted slightly at the sound. Lapsing back into his stutter like he was, Diego sounded so like the young, childish version of himself that Five had left behind all those years ago. 

“Hold on,” Five said slowly, lifting a finger to silence his brother. It was hard to concentrate on what he was saying, which was…a bad sign. The world had started swimming strangely around him, and adrenaline could only keep him upright for so long. But he needed to get them out of there.

He stumbled his way over towards the machine that the cable was hooked up to, hitting the button so that it shut off. Then he found the lever that was connected the chains keeping Diego strung up and pushed it down. The mechanism released, and Diego stumbled to the floor, hitting his hands and knees with a pained groan.

“Motherfucker,” Diego said, rolling his shoulders. He was still shuddering from the electric shock.

“I’ve got you,” Five said, trying to keep his voice steady. He made his way back over to Diego. The notion of collapsing beside him was tempting, but Five resisted the urge. “Come on, we gotta…we gotta go.”

“How-how’d you j-jump?” Diego asked. “I th-thought you were at your lim…your limit.”

“I was,” Five said. “Adrenaline. Hell of a drug.”

“What?” Diego arched an eyebrow. “D-dude, are you like one-one of those moms that lifts a car when they see their kid is trap–” Diego had to stop and close his eyes for a moment. “Trapped?” he finished, more smoothly this time.

“No,” Five snapped. “That’s stupid. And it’s called hysterical strength.”

“Whatever,” Diego rolled his eyes, in a manner that clearly suggested that he didn’t believe Five but was too tired to push the matter any further. “Just d-don’t collapse on me, al…alright?”

“I don’t plan on it,” Five said wryly. And then his world listed off to the side. “Oh.”

He doubled over and threw up a mouthful of blood and bile.

“Shit,” Diego said, scrambling forward to steady Five as he sank to his knees.

“Shit,” Five echoed, and passed out.

***

He woke up in a hospital bed, a monitor of some sort beeping monotonously in the background. 

Five sat bolt upright the moment his location registered. What the hell?

He wasn’t hooked up to much. There was just the IV sticking out of the back of his left hand, which was an unusual change of pace. Five turned and reached over to rip the IV out, only to see that his right hand was bandaged. Heavily. 

Shit. He’d use his teeth then.

Five had just lifted his hand to his mouth when a bleary voice murmured: “Five…?”

He recognized that voice. Five blinked and looked up.

“Diego?” he asked. The burning panic in his chest extinguished, leaving only embarrassment in its wake. 

This was clearly just…a normal hospital. Diego looked exhaustedly back at him from where he sat half-slumped in an uncomfortable-looking chair that had obviously been requisitioned from elsewhere and dragged over to Five’s bedside. He had an expression on his face like he wasn’t quite sure whether Five was losing his mind or not.

“What are you doing?” Diego said slowly.

Five hesitated a moment longer, then lowered his hand back down to his side. “What happened?” he countered, pretending like Diego hadn’t spoken.

Diego narrowed his eyes, but thankfully let Five’s evasiveness pass without comment. “Some Commission asshole kidnapped us. Spent some time making mincemeat out of us–mostly you–and then you warped so hard that you tore your stomach lining.”

Five did remember that, now that Diego mentioned it. Well, not the stomach lining bit, but that was presumably the explanation for the bloody vomit. 

“Huh,” Five said. “Didn’t know I could do that.”

“Don’t fucking do it again,” Diego commanded, with all the presumptuousness of a child who thought they could get away with bossing around their elders.

“How long has it been?” Five turned narrowed eyes to Diego. “You should be in bed. You need to be monitored for cardiac arrhythmia.”

“It’s not–don’t worry about–”

“I fucking knew you were here,” hissed Ben from the doorway. Diego jumped. 

“Ben,” Five said, relieved. Finally, someone with common sense. “Get this idiot out of here.”

Ben froze like a deer in the headlights, startled. His head jerked up to look at Five, and the irritation and concern clouding his expression evaporated as he broke into a relieved grin. 

“You’re awake,” he said, soft and pleased. He stepped fully into the room.

“You can’t be serious,” Five said as Ben plopped down on the foot of the bed, gently pulling Five into a quick, tight embrace. “Both of you are ridiculous.”

“Oh,” Diego mocked. “How dare we be concerned.”

Five rolled his eyes and spread his hands slightly, gesturing to the hospital room around them. “As you can see, I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” Diego said. “You look fantastic. Really, uh, in the peak of health right now, huh? Gonna go get up and run a marathon?”

Ben let out a little snort of amusement, and Five glared at them both, utterly betrayed. 

“I can take care of myself, you know,” Five couldn’t ever remember being as relentlessly young and foolish as his brothers–or ever needing this much minding, for that matter. At the skeptical noise Diego made in the back of his throat, Five tilted his head to the side and said, archly, “Which one of us is still in bed and which one snuck away from medical attention, Diego?”

“Ah, fair point,” Ben turned to Diego, still smiling.

“Oh yeah?” Diego said, sensing that the tide was turning against him and crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “And what were you doing when you were trying to rip your IV out with your teeth, again?”

Five straightened his back. “Diego,” he hissed, but it was too late.

Ben frowned, an expression full of worry and brotherly disappointment. “Five!” he said, clearly dismayed. Five wilted slightly. Was this how Klaus felt all the time? “Why would you do that?”

Five cast a sidelong glance at Diego. “I was just disoriented,” he said. “That’s all. And I’m better now, so it’s hardly worth getting riled up over.” It probably wouldn’t have taken him long to realize that he was just in a regular hospital once he made it out to the hallway. 

Once he had…he probably would have gone stumbling off to look for Diego, Five could admit that much to himself. But he certainly didn’t need to tell his brothers that. No one could prove that he was lying.

“Just,” Five waved them both off. “Take Diego back to bed.”

“For fuck’s sake, Five,” Diego said. “I’m just worried.” Then, as if sensing that Five was not his best bet, he turned mournful eyes towards Ben. “Just a little longer, Ben. Then you can rat me out to the damn nurses.”

Ben’s lips twisted thoughtfully as he glanced between them. “A couple minutes,” he finally conceded with a sigh. “It’s not like you won’t just break out again anyways.”

“Ha!” Diego said, too loudly. Five winced, the noise aggravating the pulsing headache that Five hadn’t even realized he had. “…Whoops.”

Five glared.

“Sorry,” Diego’s voice was closer to a whisper now. He reached out, lacing a hand with Five’s and squeezing it apologetically.

“It’s fine,” Five said, ignoring the feeling of warmth that bloomed in his chest. “I’m not made of glass.”

“I’ll leave if you really want,” Diego offered. “We can let you get some rest.”

If he wanted. Ha. Five couldn’t pretend that getting some peace and quiet didn’t have an appeal, but…in it’s own sort of way, it was comforting to have family in the room. Irrefutable evidence that they were still living and breathing, so real that even all his years of knowing they were dead couldn’t override it. But Diego did need to go back to his hospital room; Five wouldn’t be the one to pull him from the care he needed. He refused. But for now…

Five sighed. “Fine,” he said, and squeezed Diego’s hand back. “Just for a few minutes.”

**Author's Note:**

> you don't have to comment but boy oh boy would it make me feel validated !!! plus I would treasure it.


End file.
